Rise up Lazarus
by Lunar Kitty
Summary: A/U Adventure and Romance - When Vegeta-no-Ouji decides to attempt to overthrow the Ice-jin empire, things quickly go awry. A fiction of epic proportions.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, so I haven't written anything for DBZ pretty much ever but this story has been developing in my head over several years to the tune of a massively epic DBZ fanfiction, hopefully. Please read and review! Primary characters will be Bulma and Vegeta, but plan for plenty of secondary relationships as well as original characters.

Zarbon frowned at the blood pooling in his hands, dripping from neatly manicured fingertips to collect at his feet, gushing from the torn throat of the Ice-jin gurgling at his feet.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Slaves were not supposed to murder their masters.

And now, Garesh was dead, arterial spray splattered across Zarbon's immaculate armor, gore dripping steadily downward, while the dark purple pool beneath his scuffed white boots spread steadily further outward, staining the pristine tiles underfoot.

Grimacing, Zarbon barely raised his power level, wincing as the ki-dampener strapped around his neck howled to life, unsure if he was preparing to defy its iron bent will. A tiny ball of ki erupted at his fingertip, pointed at the glazed eyes of the horned beast below him. He ignored the agonizing pain that shot up his spine, causing fireworks to erupt behind his eyes.

And fired.

Garesh and his blood evaporated into thin air, as if he had never been, and never would be again. As he powered down, the ki-dampener quieted, now humming with electricity instead of snapping like an enraged Driftworm from the Northlands. Zarbon looked nonchalantly from left to right. He would be able to say, truthfully, if questioned, that Garesh had escorted him to the slave quarter's lift. The cameras weren't trained to focus on the alcove in which the lift rested, or the hallway leading away from it to the pleasure quarters. Slaves were slaves, and what their masters ordered them to do in the privacy of the Corridor was none of the surveillance crew's business.

Don't ask, don't tell.

If he was lucky, the cameras wouldn't have picked up the blood splattering against the walls as his teeth went for the pervert's jugular, sinking in with canines and fingertips to rend flesh from bone.

If he was unlucky…

His hands shook. His bloody hands. Zarbon tore his cape off, using it to clean away the gore, the bits of flesh that remained as a testament to the bloody deed. The lift dinged quietly and opened, revealing a six-armed janitor wheeling a collapsible barrow. He recoiled visibly when Zarbon stepped forward.

Collared or not, the reptilian alien had once been a reluctant member of Frieza's purging squads. Now, he was disgraced and enslaved.

But still immensely powerful.

Several floors down, the lift opened again, the overpowering stench of death, decay, and despair wafting through the grill as it dematerialized, the laser beams evaporating. Zarbon understood now why the heavy-armed janitor was needed. The barrow he carried was for retrieving bodies.

He wished now that the collar was gone, that he could levitate over the prone forms laid across the filthy dirt floors. Instead, Zarbon picked carefully over his comrades-in-arms, careful to avoid tails and other slithering appendages of the most wounded, the most depraved. Broken women sat silently in narrow doorways, shrinking away from anyone who approached. Many of them had once been beautiful. Now, their formerly perfumed hair fell in dank clumps around their faces. One girl that he had seen on the auction block some weeks before lay catatonic on a resting place made of discarded clothing. She turned to glance at him as he approached, empty holes weeping puss where her raven-black eyes had been.

Zarbon swallowed back his gorge.

The hallway twisted and turned, narrow passageways branching off that slaves had created over the many millennia of Ice-jin rule. When he had been above, cavorting in the sickening playground of elitist Ice-jins, prized pet of their ruler for his unique coloring, he had heard many an Ice-jin remark that the slave passages were impossible to navigate. One would be lost in an instant, and dead soon after.

But Zarbon knew what he was looking for.

Up ahead, bone long picked clean of flesh caught his eye, even in the darkness. The soldier's broken armor had been scavenged, but this was it.

Glancing behind him surreptitiously, he slipped into a narrow chasm hidden behind the remains of the fallen warrior. His shoulders, broadened by his armor, scraped loudly along the rock walls, trailing pebbles behind him. The light from his ki-dampener, that eerie blue glow accompanying those punished as such, lit the passageway ahead. A large opening, more like a round room, greeted him. In each direction, a passageway led off into another part of the slave town.

Breathing deeply, Zarbon caught barely a whiff of scent from the passage directly to his left. But it was enough.

This passage sloped upwards, well worn and used. Bare foot prints had left step like indentations at one steep, downward sloping point. The stone was cool, and he wished he could use his ki to warm himself. Finally, the end of the passageway loomed, deep beneath the earth. Light peered from beneath a salvaged pod-ship door, embedded into the rock by crudely, ki-soddered hinges.

He lifted his hands.

And knocked.

A/N: Interested? What could Zarbon be up to?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I am a Vegeta fan by about ten million percentage points over any other character in the anime.

The sounds of footsteps stomping down the steep passageway to the Hive startled Celere. She had been peering at the faded, chipped computer screen in the central meeting room, looking at antiquated star charts from some fifty years before. Her nose sniffed delicately in the cool subterranean lair.

She knew that scent.

A shot of adrenaline rocketed through her veins as her heart pounded uncomfortably hard in her chest, aching in its intensity. For all of her eighty years, her eyes barely had wrinkles around the edges, her face still as smooth as it had been when she had been given to wife so many long years ago. She feebly reached for the dagger on her waist in case of trouble, strength gone, stripped from her as her ki had been in child birth with each fluttering beat of her weakened heart.

Strong, gentle hands grasped her fingertips, pulling them away from the dagger and into a room down the nearest hallway.

"Celere," a deep, male voice murmured, two gloved fingers reaching up to touch the pulse point in her neck. The man in front of her frowned, his spiky black hair bobbing as he listened to the rapid pace of her overtaxed cardiovascular system, "You must rest."

"Bardock, Zarbon is coming," Celere protested, weakly. Her spikey, ravens-black hair tickled her shoulders as her physician and friend tugged her away from the wall, wrapping her into a thick pelt and lifting her into his arms.

"Your son will take care of the visitor, milady," Bardock replied companionably, "Zarbon is collared, he will be of little or no threat to Vegeta-no-Ouji."

"Can you be sure?" she asked, coldness seeping into her voice, "The last time you claimed someone would be of little or no threat, I do seem to recall our planet being blown up."

"Stop making mountains out of molehills," her companion scoffed, "I have my orders, and I must follow them."

"Vegeta is still his mother's son, and I am the Queen," she snarled, her Saiyan temper erupting, tail swinging out of the fur wrapped around her to smack against his broad, bare arm.

"And yet he is the one with direct blood ties to the throne, not you milady," another male voice interjected firmly. Celere glared at the warrior who had interrupted her. Nappa's bald head shone in the faint light of the Hive. She pouted, most unbecoming of a Queen, at her long time friend and body guard, the Saiyan who had watched her as she grew, and had guarded her son during his early years as well. Nappa was unflinchingly loyal, his advice was not to be disregarded.

She felt the familiar brush of her son's ki against her own as the prince swept into the chamber, his upswept hair as dark as her own. His white, ceremonial armor was topped by one of his fallen father's hand-me-down capes, trimmed with the pelt of a now extinct docat's fur. He was followed closely by the only Saiyan come into his strength who remained even remotely close to him in age, Radditz, Bardock's eldest.

Celere watched the pride that erupted on Nappa's face at the sight of Vegeta, the most powerful son of the royal house in over a thousand years. The legendary reborn.

"Mother," Vegeta rumbled, kneeling in homage to his Queen and regent, his dark eyes locking onto her own. His father's eyes, black and calculating, with fire burning in their depths. With one glance Vegeta directed Radditz to the conference room to greet their guest.

"Well met, my son," she said with a smile. Properly welcomed, Vegeta gently stepped towards her, his white gloved hand pressing gently to her cheek.

"You are well?" he asked stoically, worry barely evident in his gaze. Her son kept his emotions on a tight leash. He had to, but she could feel the tentative psychic tendrils that brushed against her mind gently, appraising her well being.

"Yes, Bardock has been most attentive," she replied, shooting an angry glance at the older Saiyan, "I would like my dagger back, by the way."

Vegeta glanced at his mother's angrily whipping tail and smirked. Bardock had followed his orders to keep Celere calm to the best of his abilities. He couldn't blame his mother for being wary of the lizard that awaited them outside their doorstep. His tail swept out and batted his mother's playfully, and he grinned at the angry snarl that erupted from her lips. This was not a time for play however. He tucked his tail tightly against his waist, not wanting it to betray his agitation during his meeting with Zarbon.

Stepping into the chill of the meeting room, he noted Radditz nonchalantly leaning against the computer console. The nearly seven foot tall Saiyan towered over Zarbon. The androgynous reptilian's green hair was loose, hanging down around his face. Vegeta noted its strategic placement almost concealed the ki-dampener strapped around Zarbon's thin, elegant neck.

"Vegeta-no-Ouji," Zarbon spoke without being acknowledged. Vegeta bristled in response, but was placated by the smarmy lizard's use of his given title with respect, not scorn, "I have news."

"Very well then, Lord Zarbon, speak freely," Vegeta said, returning the courtesy given. He glanced towards Radditz, who leaned back casually to hit the record button on the computer's console. He knew the action did not go unnoticed by Zarbon, but treachery must be suspected at every turn. Any physical evidence against the reptile would be good enough to damn him in Frieza's eyes, binding him even tighter to their cause.

"Frieza is planning to attend the Intergalactic Trade Conference taking place in three days on Emeralhd, he will be requiring our presence, as well as that of your warriors to present a strong front to his father and brother," he paused, gauging Vegeta's reaction. The temperamental prince was narrowing his eyebrows incrementally as Zarbon spoke, "Whether he likes us or not, you are one of his strongest elites, and I am also of elite quality. I am sure my collar will be removed for the duration of the event."

"And what is so important about this event that makes it pertinent to our cause, other than your collar being removed, of course," Vegeta replied, scathingly, "Do you expect us to rise up and overthrow him in front of millions at the Arena of Souls? Although I am much stronger than our great _Lord_ believes me to be, I am nowhere near strong enough to take on Frieza and his family, even in oozaru form."

"If you would let me finish, Ouji-sama?" Zarbon interjected, standing up quickly, ignoring Radditz' warning growl that echoed across the room. Saiyans did not care for sudden bursts of movement. He noted that the prince remained calmly in his chair, unmoved by his change of position. Unthreatened by his fellow warrior. Completely unconcerned.

Damn. He needed Vegeta to be interested in this!

"Continue," the prince hissed, his fingers waving towards Zarbon.

"At the conference, all of the major trading partners with the Cold Empire will be present. I am sure you have heard of the House of Chikyuu?"

Vegeta stared at Zarbon contemplatively. He knew of the House of Chikyuu, an empire in its infancy. The trade based powerhouse had little in way of military might, using technology instead of warriors to defend their borders in the Gamma quadrant. The ruled over the southern part of their spiral galaxy, having peacefully collected some forty odd planets through merger coalitions that were mutually beneficial to both home world and satellite worlds.

"The Chikyuu-jin royalty will be in attendance, and the Chikyuu-no-hime is bringing her personal guard detail with her, which is headed by a man known only as Goku."

"The same Goku who destroyed the former head of the Ginyu Force on Raidyan?" Radditz spoke up unintentionally.

Vegeta shot a glare at him that could have melted an Ice-jin polar cap. The room fell eerily silent, "And why, Zarbon," he postulated, "Would this _Goku_ be interested in helping us?"

"He owes me a favor," Zarbon replied, simply.

"And you suppose that such a powerful man would deign to fulfill a favor of one of Frieza's slaves, much less grant an audience to a rag-tag group of Saiyans attempting to overthrow the Ice-jin Empire?" Vegeta scoffed, "He has nothing to lose, while we on the other hand have _everything _to lose."

"Vegeta," Zarbon implored, dropping to his knees in front of the seated warrior prince, "Just this once I am asking you to trust me implicitly, _this will work._"

Vegeta stared in astonishment at Zarbon, who had just sacrificed his only remaining possession, pride, to plead his cause. He narrowed his eyes until it looked as if his brows would touch, thinking fiercely.

"Very well, Zarbon," Vegeta grumbled, "But if this backfires I will sow Frieza's gardens with your entrails."

"Duly noted, Ouji," Zarbon said, sighing in relief, "The flagship will depart for Emerahld in two days."

"Report to me again on our arrival," Vegeta commanded. With a bow, Zarbon left the Hive as quickly as he had arrived, leaving Vegeta alone with only Radditz for council.

"It is not wise to trust him, Ouji-sama," Radditz rumbled, touching the off button on the recorder.

"It is unfortunate that we must," Vegeta replied, fingers resting on the tip of his chin, "Radditz, bring me Nappa and Bardock, our people must be moved."

A/N: And so the plot thickens…


	3. Chapter 3

"My dear monkey-prince," Frieza purred, fingers curling into the bare shoulder of the deliciously soft mammalian flesh kneeling at his feet. His three-toed feet curled pleasurably at the heat emanating from the warrior, his tail sliding along the floor in enjoyment.

"My Lord Frieza," Vegeta replied, monotone even as the lizard trailed his fingers across a whip-lash scar that spread from shoulder to shoulder across the diminutive Saiyan's broad back.

"I require your presence on my flagship. Feel free to bring your underlings. I expect to see your mother there as well, am I understood?"

Frieza's talons dug deep into Vegeta's flesh. His lips twitched imperceptibly, one wickedly sharp canine protruding as rivulets of deep red began to stream from the prince's bronzed skin to soak into the training mats below.

"It would be my pleasure, Lord Frieza," Vegeta ground out between clenched teeth, spittle mixing with the blood pooling on the floor. The lizard-king cackled, releasing his grip on the prince's shoulder. He raised his hand to his mouth, long tongue sliding out to suck Vegeta's juices off of his fingertips.

Vegeta tried not to shudder, biting his lip in disgust. The pale white and violet splashed skin of his master shimmered beneath the lights of the training room. Nappa lay incapacitated nearby, Frieza having taken his amusement out on the slower, older warrior prior to approaching the Saiyan prince, who had stalked into the room during the beating.

Vegeta knew that the lizard-lord needed an incentive to remember his elite Saiyans, to insure their invitation onto the flag ship that could possibly secure a new avenue for Saiyan independence. Nappa had been the entree, he, the desert. Clenching his shoulder in his fist, he watched the lizard's tail dizzily as he slunk towards the doors, stepping outside with a girly wave, "See you later, little monkey."

Staggering upward, Vegeta swore as his vision doubled. Trust Frieza to taint his damn nail polish with some sort of venomous fluid. He stumbled, only to be caught by Radditz' large hands as the ground rushed towards his face. His eyes fluttered shut as a regeneration mask snapped over his mouth, and he knew no more.

What felt like eons later, Vegeta peeled his eyes open, staring through the bubbling wall at his mother's face, her hands pressed gently against the bubble shaped tank. He felt her mind gently brush against his, unspoken pride and love caressing him. He groaned as the tank drained, feeling like he had fought the entire Ginyu Force without ki. Trust Frieza to royally fuck with him just when he needed his strength the most.

His mother's tiny hands helped lift him out of the tank, her fingertips lifting a soft robe around his shoulders, "Nappa?" Vegeta ground out hoarsely, glancing at the empty tanks around him.

His mother smiled, "It was a close thing, but he will be fine, well met, my son."

"And you as well, mother," Vegeta sighed, relief overwhelming him. Nappa may have been thick, but he was also the closest thing the prince had to a father, and they could not afford to lose any strength on the eve of their revolution, "When do we need to have everything loaded on the flagship?"

"It has already been done, we are on the ship." Vegeta stared at her in disbelief.

"What? How? How long have I been in there?" The prince snarled, his tail fluffing out indignantly, flames of blue ki licking his skin dry.

"Two days, we will arrive on Emerahld in the next few hours my son," her tail caressed his back comfortingly as they walked towards his customary quarters on Frieza's flagship, "Frieza's nails were painted in a particularly potent neuro toxin, you're lucky that Radditz was there. The damage could have been permanent."

The doors to their chambers slid open with a hiss, revealing Nappa, Radditz, Bardock, and the reptilian Zarbon sitting around his conference table. His men were picking over the remnants of some meaty carcass. Vegeta's stomach rumbled hungrily, but he ignored it and his men, instead, stalking towards his chambers.

Dropping his robe, Vegeta hissed at the dimpled flesh marring his shoulder in the shape of Frieza's nails. It was rare that a scar would remain after so long inside a regeneration tank, which meant that Frieza had been punishing him for some perceived slight. Cursing the thrice-be-damned lizard, the prince slammed open his closet, clenching his ceremonial armor in his fists. His shoulder felt weak.

Dammit.

His mother entered behind him, standing well out of her son's way. She knew that he did not want a mother's comfort. Noting the difficulty he had stretching his shoulder to pull on his body suit and armor, she sighed. Male pride be damned.

Vegeta flushed inside the neck of his body suit as his mother tugged it over his hair and head, then clasped his most simple ceremonial armor, without shoulder plates, on to her son's muscular frame.

"There," she said with a sigh, ruffling his hair gently, "You can handle your own cape, tough stuff."

He smirked at his mother's snarky attitude. At least he knew where he got his sharpened tongue. Grasping his favorite hand-me-down cape, the prince swept it over his shoulder's in a flurry of royal blue, then stepped back into the room.

Zarbon had somehow procured an extra plate for the prince, who sat down with a thud and tucked in with a glare towards Zarbon that silently demanded he divulge his information.

"Goku will be at the Redzin Club tonight, escorting a small portion of the Princess's entourage," Zarbon explained, "There will be no questions if you and your Saiyans happen to be at the same club as both myself and Chikyuu-jins."

"It is a rather popular location," Bardock agreed, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "But someone as important as this Goku creature would most likely be a VIP, sequestered away from the general crowd."

"No worries," Zarbon replied, "I have a contact within the human contingent."

"Are you certain that this contact will be at the club?" Radditz growled, "Your treachery would result in a most painful death."

Zarbon grinned toothily, sharp, pointy. Vegeta could feel him building up his ki in irritation at the larger Saiyan, "I assure you," he snarled, voice deeper than usual, "My contact most certainly will be there."

"Very well then, lizard," Nappa grumbled, still slightly drowsy from his time in the tank, "Tell us what time to be there."

Glancing towards Vegeta, who was eating politely at an extremely rapid pace, unlike his voracious foot soldiers, Zarbon smiled his toothy grin again, "Shall we say directly after the opening cotillion?"

Vegeta groaned audibly, "We have to go to a fucking cotillion?"

"Kill me now," Radditz moaned melodramatically.

"Full ceremonial armor for everyone," Nappa said, standing and clapping his hands.

"Dammit," Bardock snarled, "That shit itches my balls something awful."

"Well aren't you all just a bunch of hormonal males," Zarbon sniffed delicately.

"Excuse me?" the Queen snipped, her whipcord lean tail smacking against Zarbon's cheek chidingly.

The reptilian looked up at her sheepishly. Even ki-less, the Queen was renowned for her formidable temper when riled.

"The cotillion does not begin until three hours after we land on Emerahld, there is plenty of time to prepare," Nappa, the voice of reason, intoned from across the room. He had made his way to their on-board console to view the invitation at his leisure. Vegeta, meanwhile, had moved from the table to an open walkway, where he had promptly embarked on doing one handed push ups with his strained shoulder.

"Can I go naked?" Bardock asked, rubbing his hands through his hair and letting them rest behind his head, "I promise nobody would even notice."

"Could you try not to bring any unwanted attention to us tonight?" Vegeta snarled, pain reverberating through his shoulder with every compression, but voice steady, as if he weren't even working out.

"I think the women should go naked, save our kind and gracious Queen," Radditz replied devilishly, tail twitching with amusement.

"I like that idea," Nappa laughed from across the room, eyes watching Vegeta's smooth, practiced movements.

Zarbon stood, planning to take his leave of the Saiyans, only to find the Queen's tail wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"Zarbon, I request that you stay," Celere said sweetly, tugging him closer to her.

"And why is that?" Zarbon replied, warily.

"I need help deciding what to wear."


	4. Chapter 4

Vegeta tugged at the high neck of his ceremonial armor, the black fabric chaffing his skin from little use. His fiery red breast plate gleamed in the bright light of the ballroom, the seal of the royal house of Vegeta-sei emblazoned over his heart. His favorite black cloak, interwoven with silvery threads, was draped over his massive shoulder pads.

He tried not to show any discomfort on his face as he gently rotated his shoulder in its socket. Every move the muscle made sent screams of pain rocketing up his neck, straight to his head, which now housed an ache that had gone from mild to uncontrollably throbbing within the last half hour.

It was as if some sort of biting insect had left a throbbing welt underneath his armor. The urge to scratch was almost unbearable. But he stood in a ballroom full of foreign dignitaries, a representative of the Cold Empire, forced to swelter and itch without any source of relief. Frieza sat, rampant on his floating chair, simpering dignitaries flocking to his side. Per his station, Vegeta stood on the lizard's left, behind Jeiyce and Recoome of the Ginyu Force.

Jeiyce fidgeted like a girl with his hair, and Vegeta couldn't help but notice the infatuation that washed over Recoome's face every time the red and white skinned alien fluffed his platinum mane of hair. Fucking freaks. The big one had the brains of an intergalactic roach and the smaller the libido of a Cenatarian bull. No wonder they were attracted to one another. At least the universe had done itself a small favor by making sure the two couldn't create progeny biologically.

A commotion at the doorway signaled the arrival of the Chikyuu-jin delegation. Preoccupied with his shoulder, Vegeta barely took notice of the petite, elegant woman that glided from the massive open doors to the throne dais, extending one porcelain white hand to Lord Frieza. The lizard raised the soft skin to his mouth and humored the human delegate with a soft kiss.

She turned and walked diagonally away from Frieza, a massive weight of softly curling locks cascading down her bare back to her buttocks. The vibrant blue color of her hair was enough to distract Vegeta from his inner musings, and he narrowed his eyes towards her as she passed him, her fragrant odor like a balm on his soul.

Who was she?

Two burly humanoid warriors accompanied her. One was the vibrant green color of the Namekian people, his power level dormant, but potentially enough that he could have gone toe to toe with Frieza in his first, untransformed level. Her other escort looked almost Saiyan in appearance, a massive scar cutting his face, wild spiky black hair hanging in a pony tail past his ribcage.

Compared to Vegeta, both were weaklings. Although, if his shoulder didn't stop aching it was possible that either of the two could easily take him in a fight.

Scowling even deeper, Vegeta glared invisible daggers at Frieza, who was laughing gaily at something Dodoria had murmured into his ear.

Gods, Vegeta hated cotillions. Whether it was the absolute moronic behavior of Frieza's coven or the ridiculous vomit-inducing fawning that those wishing to gain favor with the Cold Empire spewed upon meeting the lizard, the entire atmosphere reduced his control to an angry hairsbreadth, ready to snap at any moment.

Frieza stood, sweeping his ceremonial fur cape over his shoulders to trail behind him, a train of white pelts from the Cold Empire's home planet. Vegeta sighed in relief. Once Frieza left his dais, his soldiers were free to do as they wished.

Following protocol, Vegeta waited, loathsome, as Jeiyce and Recoome left in front of him. Satisfied that he would not unintentionally offend someone - not that he gave two damns about whether he did or did not - Vegeta strode masterfully towards his own people, sequestered away from the dithering crowds now swarming, attempting to touch the damnable beast that swept towards the refreshments table.

Catching his mother's hand, Vegeta squeezed her fingertips gently, wincing as the simple motion sent fiery waves of agony rushing up his arm, settling in the festering shoulder.

"Are you alright, my son?" Celere asked, poorly hidden worry evident in narrowing of her eyes and the arch of her brow. Vegeta couldn't help but admire the fine gold ornaments woven into her spiky hair, the one-shouldered gown she wore spilling around her in a burgundy torrent to pool on the floor in waves of silk. A thick arm cuff bearing the insignia of the House of Vegetasei adorned her upper arm, her regent's ring prominent on the third finger of her left hand. Zarbon had done very well dressing his mother.

"Nothing a little time in a regen tank won't fix, I assure you. You look lovely," Vegeta replied, offering her arm and leading her towards her guards, Bardock and Radditz, who hovered like intimidating dark shadows only a few feet away from the Queen in either direction.

"Your shoulder?" Bardock rumbled, lifting a brow quizzically, "It shouldn't be bothering you after two days in the tank not even twenty-four hours ago."

"Perhaps something residual, then?" Radditz asked, snagging a plate of food from one of the many wandering slaves serving meals and offering it to the Queen and Prince.

Vegeta's stomach rolled at the sight of the simple bread, cheese, and wine displayed before him. Grimacing and trying not to reveal his discomfort, Vegeta reached forward and deftly snatched a roll, handing it to his mother.

Celere beamed as she sank her teeth delicately into a fluffy bite of the croissant, her lips beaming upwards into a delighted smile, "The center is sweet," she explained. Her pleasure at obtaining such a rare treat made Vegeta's heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. His mother was of the great house of Bracyla, her blood was that of thousands of elites who had come before her. She did not deserve to be treated as some sort of ornament in Frieza's court, dying slowly due to lack of medical care and proper nutrition.

She was a Queen. She deserved to be treated as such.

A growl rumbled from Vegeta's chest as Nappa approached, Zarbon trailing silently after him. The cotillion had moved to the dance floor, a clear sign that the Saiyan delegation's presence was no longer required for propriety's sake. The small party melted into the gloom of the many surrounding antechambers, removing themselves to their quarters some three levels above.

After clearing the room with a super-sensory sweep, the Queen slunk towards her chambers, Vegeta following, as the others unceremoniously left the main room of their suite, bits and pieces of ceremonial regalia clattering to the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs. Zarbon rolled his eyes and began picking up the bits and pieces, piling them all on the center table. The quarters provided to the Saiyans had not been selected by Frieza. Instead, they were courtesy of their host world, Emerahld, which had once been a valued trading partner of the Saiyan-jin Empire. They were kind to provide these weary warriors with lavish accoutrements for the duration of their stay.

One by one, the Saiyans returned to the main room. Bardock had abandoned his full armor for a loose pair of black shorts. Radditz, on the other hand, had tugged on a pair of bikini style training briefs, hardly enough fabric to cover the giant Saiyan's assets, leaving him practically naked as he sprawled across a leather chaise settled in the corner. Nappa returned, wearing shorts as well, followed shortly by Celere, who had tugged on a large tunic made of soft jersey weave that fell past her knees. She curled up in a chair next to the fireplace, settling her head upon her bent arm.

Vegeta was the last to return. He too, like his men, had also participated in their general disregard for a clothed state. Unlike the rest, Vegeta did not seem particularly healthy or well-rested. Instead, the normally surly, temperamental Prince sank into a leather, high-backed chair. He winced visibly when the skin of his shoulder encountered the leather, leaping up and presenting his back to the group as he moved to another, backless chair. Zarbon snarled angrily at the sight presented to the group. Vegeta's shoulder had a large, pustule growing beneath one of the fresh, pink scars from Frieza's nails. Dark blue veins crept away from it, crawling up his shoulder and down onto his bicep in one direction, and in the other, spreading gradually from his shoulder blade towards his spine.

"Holy shit, Ouji-sama," Nappa's voice was thick with anger, "What the fuck is going on with your back?"

"Leave it, Nappa," Vegeta snarled, baring his teeth at the older warrior. He walked towards a nearby cabinet, kicking it open to reveal training bandages. Sitting on the floor, Vegeta began methodically tearing them into strips, then wrapping them tenderly around his ribs and shoulder, "Speak, Zarbon!"

Zarbon shuddered as the infected area disappeared underneath the bandaging, then began to speak, "Goku will be arriving at Redzin within the hour. The Princess will not be in attendance, which means that he most likely will be there to enjoy himself, as well as escort her entourage."

The Queen nodded, her lips clenched tightly, "Will he meet with us as you presume, or is this some fool's errand?" she asked, her tone terse and calculating.

"Goku, as I said, owes me a favor. He is not renowned for being cruel, an audience is the least he can arrange," Zarbon replied, firmly.

"An audience?" Bardock asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "I did not think this 'Goku' so important that we had to request audience with him."

"Not an audience with him, persay, but with his mistress," Zarbon said, smiling wanly, "The Princess of Chikyuu-sei."


End file.
